Sleep In A Sunshine Estate Bed And Breakfasts In Florida Are Born Of A Rich Heritage

May 8, 1988|By Laura Stewart and Susanne Hupp of The Sentinel Staff

Quaint may be the last word to pop into the minds of most people when they think of Florida's historic homes -- once they get past their astonishment at the notion that the state even has houses old enough to be considered historic.

A more likely image is of a magnificent mansion -- Vizcaya in Miami, say, or the Ringling's Ca'd'Zan in Sarasota. To many people, Florida's old buildings are no older than the art deco structures that serve as backdrops in Miami Vice, or perhaps the flamboyant hotels of Miami Beach.

But quaint is just the word for the many bed-and-breakfast hotels that dot Florida, all the way from the Panhandle to Key West and from Fernandina Beach to Venice. And among the most charming of all those homey bed-and- breakfast inns are the ones that were built at least 50 years ago, and built to be the homes of some of the state's early settlers.

Each of those homes-turned-hotels tells a tale, and not just the tale of its owners and their families. Each also speaks volumes about the tastes and dreams of generations of residents, and each reflects a key aspect of Florida's surprisingly varied, vast history.

The Banyan House in Venice, for example, was begun in 1926, during the euphoric period of prosperity brought about by the great Florida land boom. Its first owner, Robert Marvin, was an executive with the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, which was developing the whole planned community of Venice. Then, in 1929, the Florida land boom bottomed out and the Depression struck. Venice went bankrupt and the ornate, Spanish-style house was abandoned -- as was the rest of the city.

For a time, hobos lived in the 10 rooms of the gracious mansion. They camped out on floors of tiles imported from Italy, and cooked over an open hearth in a sculpted fireplace that also is Italian. Over their heads in the cream-colored, stuccoed mansion were red barrel tiles and then, as now, the ceilings were of pecky cypress.

In the early 1930s, a jill-of-all-trades named Virginia Wilson bought the elaborate house for back taxes. During the 30 years she owned it, the structure served as a nursery school, a guest house, a tea room and the office of the city's first taxi service. During the second World War, it became an unofficial USO headquarters and also was used as a hurricane shelter. It was while it was a rooming house in the 1930s that the house got its name, which is in honor of the gigantic East India tree that grows on its grounds.

The house's next owner, Margaret Thomas, discarded her rejects into the swimming pool as she worked on a book about fossilized sharks' teeth. That tale may be a bit tall; the pool, however, did cave in during Thomas' years in the elegant house. In 1979, the house became a bed-and-breakfast inn and its new owners restored it to reflect the city's unique history during the period when the house was new. Its rooms bear such atmospheric names as the Palm Room and Palmetto Room, and today the swimming pool and hot tub are sheltered by the ancient tree.

The story of the ornate Bailey House in Fernandina Beach is just as romantic, if a little less complicated. The turreted, gabled Queen Anne-style mansion was built in 1895 for Effingham W. Bailey, an agent for a shipping company, and his bride. The land on which the house stands had been a wedding present, and, according to legend, the new Mrs. Bailey faced a choice when it came to building on the pleasant site. She could either have a modest dwelling with fancy furnishings, or she could have an elaborate house that would be furnished as time passed and the family fortunes flourished. Fortunately for the state's roster of notable residences, Mrs. Bailey opted for luxury.

The romantically silhouetted house has wraparound porches and bay windows on all levels. It took three years to build, at the then staggering cost of $10,000, and its interior appointments are just as unique and delightful as its emphatic massing on the flat Florida skyline. The stained-glass windows in the entrance are in the dominant, Tiffany-influenced style of the period, and the inscription over the reception-hall fireplace proclaims proudly: ''Hearth Hall, Welcome All.''

The Norment-Parry Inn in Orlando is just as charming -- and just as rich in history. When the two-story frame structure, which is the city's oldest documented residence standing, was begun around 1883, Orlando was a small, friendly community with sandy roads. The house was built for Judge Richard B. Norment of Baltimore and his wife, Margaret Parry. Its wide porch projects from a frame facade, and tall windows allowed cooling breezes to circulate throughout. Built of Florida hardwood, the L-shaped, Victorian house was enlarged in the 1920s and gas lighting and a summer kitchen were added.